


The Prince who Wooed a Demon

by Roadstergal



Series: Thor and the Demon [1]
Category: Norse Religion & Lore, Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Angst, Bargaining, Deception, F/M, Gen, Hair, Helheimr | Hel (Realm), M/M, Quests, Resurrection, Tragic Romance, Unrequited Love, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 08:33:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14849333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roadstergal/pseuds/Roadstergal
Summary: A Norse fantasy with Marvel flavor. A prince seeks to resurrect his betrothed. Inspired by this piece of art.http://kisskicker.tumblr.com/post/168437126273/mild-nsfw-for-demon-butt-this-is-the-tryout-piece





	The Prince who Wooed a Demon

Stories are told, passed down, year upon year, changing in the telling. You might think, then, that they become less accurate over time. Yet, by chance, might a story find its way back to greater accuracy, in the telling?

And even if that were so, is this that story?

It is the story of Thor, Prince of Asgard, god of storms, master of lightning. Thor was beloved of Sif, mighty warrior-maiden, and loved her in turn. So great was their ardor, so strong their arms when they fought side by side, that all agreed the match was ordained by the hands of the Fates. Thor had a ring made for her pale finger, out of heavy yellow gold and a ruby red as blood. He pledged his troth to her as he slid it onto her finger, and great was the rejoicing of all of Asgard when she accepted.

Thor's mother, gracious Frigga, threw a fine feast for their betrothal, a week and a day in duration. Musicians from all of the realms came to perform for the happy couple; the finest chefs of Asgard took willing sacrifices of the beasts of the air, the land, and the sea, creating succulent dishes to fete the happy couple.

Yet not all were pleased with the match. And as is sometimes the case, the least mighty can cause the most mischief. A small bird, sacrificed for the feast, hid a bone in its flesh, and lodged it in the throat of Sif the fair, Sif Thor's beloved, and took the breath from her.

The feast of betrothal turned to a feast of mourning. Long and loudly did Thor bewail the loss of his beloved. For a week after the funeral, he would not eat, not sleep, only stand on the balcony of the palace, looking out over the Rimfall as if his beloved might return from thence.

"My son," Frigga the wise told mighty Thor, "this brooding does not become you. We have lost one life in tragedy; I do not wish to lose two."

"I cannot live without her," proclaimed Thor, and in that moment, the god made a decision. He would go to the lands of the dead, to dark, fiery Helheim, and fight to retrieve his beloved.

Long was the journey and many the challenges, but Thor was resolute, and did not allow himself to be turned from his quest, no matter the dangers before him, no matter the temptations around him. He could not count how many days it was before he stood at the gates of Helheim, but stand there he did.

The gates were guarded by a dog most fierce, with flaming eyes and jagged yellow teeth in each of its many heads. Yet the love of Sif stood as Thor's armor. He did not feel the creature's fangs, but it surely felt the blows of his fists and mighty hammer, and ran whimpering away, leaving him free to enter the Realm of the Dead.

A lake of fire stood before him. Yet there were paths - jutting stone, small islands, steaming hot rock here and there. He walked, leaped, and climbed as he could, yet always, the mischievous paths lead him back to the entrance. He roared and thundered his anger, but the rocks themselves were unmoved, mocking his impotence.

His noise, however, summoned a Hel-demon, a fire-sprite with scaled skin and molten red eyes, emerging from the fire-lake like a mer-creature from the waters of home. "Greetings, Thor, Thunderer, God of Storms and Dark Clouds, Master of Valhalla," quoth the demon, casting its eyes upon Thor. "You are far from the celestial heights and blue skies of your home. What has brought you to Helheim?"

Thor could see, then, that the demon was under the spell of Freya, Goddess of Love. His red eyes burned with more than just the Hel-fires. "Good demon," replied Thor, "I have come on a quest to regain a fallen companion, taken too early. But I confess, now, that your beauty has moved my heart greatly. I would know you better, sweet demon."

At his words, the demon was charmed, for indeed the spell of Freya makes fools of all - beast, man, giant, demon. "Come into my realm, then," it invited him. "Join me, and we will swim together in the warm lakes of Helheim, and bask in the fires of the Caverns of the Damned."

"Good demon," quoth Thor, "alas, my flesh is too weak to stand the heat of your realm. Can you not join me on the hard stone?"

And so the demon met him on the cold stone, and they spoke of Love to each other, and kissed. Great was the demon's joy at the touch of this beautiful Aesir, and Thor concealed his true intent, making woo passionately. Thor took the demon's red hand and professed his desire to be wed.

"But, sweet demon," quoth he, "if we are to be betrothed, I must give you a ring. My dead companion in arms bears a ring of great price, set with a ruby as red as your skin. Let me have her back again, and she shall be your bridesmaid."

The demon was greatly charmed by this speech. "This I will do," he promised. "I will take you to her. But you  _must_ come with me; you must return with a craft that would bear you safely over the fiery Hel-seas."

Thor journeyed, then, to Nidavellir, and sought out Eitri, greatest of all of the smiths. "Eitri, fire-friend, forge-master - I require a boon of thee."

The dwarf paused in his work to regard the Aesir. "Name thy boon, Thor. I warn thee, however, that I do not work for free."

Thor described his need - a boat of great strength, that would bear him over the molten lakes of Helheim.

"And what will you give me for this, Thor, master of Thunder, but not of commerce?"

"I will give you gold, Eitri."

The dwarf laughed long and loud. "I have gold in great measure, Aesir. My secret caverns are filled with gold, yellow and red, payments and gifts from every realm. The rocks themselves groan with the weight of my treasure. What need I with more gold?"

Thor reached back and touched his hair, showing Eitri the flaming yellow strands. "You do not have gold such as this, honored Dwarf."

Eitri touched it with care, noting its value, the creations that could be made from it, the potent seid in the hair of a God. "I accept, Aesir."

And so it was that Eitri shaved the gold from Thor's head, and made for him a small, light boat that could fold up and fit in a pocket. Yet its hard, cool bottom could withstand the fires of Helheim. With thanks to the cunning Eitri, Thor took this marvel back to Helheim.

"You have returned for me," the demon quoth to Thor, his eyes shining with Freya's spell. "I will, as I promised, bear thee to the heart of Helheim, to retrieve your comrade."

Thor took the boat from his pocket and laid it upon the fire-sea. It bore his weight as Eitri had promised, and the Hel-demon drew it behind him, through the molten sea, to the very depths of Helheim, where the dead and the damned watched Thor with empty, silent eyes.

"Here be your comrade," the demon noted. And Sif, fair Sif of Asgard, Sif the brave and fair, stood there, a shade of herself, silent and soul-less.

"Come with me, Sif," bade Thor, his heart splitting in twain. "You remember yourself not, here in these dark caves, but you will see the sun, and know yourself again."

She held out her hand, the hand that bore the heavy gold ring with the stone as red as blood. Thor took it, drawing her into the boat.

The hel-demon swiftly drew them behind him, as eager as a creature could be for his betrothal to Thor, once Thor with the golden hair, still mighty-thewed Thor with Mjolnir by his side. He drew them to the gates of Helheim, pushing the clever boat of Eitri up onto the cold rock. "Now, Thor of Asgard, I have fulfilled my promise. Let us be betrothed, and wedded in Valhalla."

Yet no sooner had Sif stepped through the gates of Helheim, but she regained the blush of life again. She warmed, and looked with love upon Thor. "You braved the demons of Helheim to return me to the land of the living," quoth she.

"And with you, my betrothal to you is likewise resurrected," quoth Thor, taking her hands, gazing with love into her eyes.

Upon hearing those words, the demon realized he had been played false. Great was his rage and sadness, but Mjolnir bore Thor and Sif far from Helheim, swiftly to the safe bosom of Asgard.

The demon could follow no farther than Midgard, and so he raged in the forests, bewailing his fate, and the trees grew red and burned.

The Old Wise Ones of Midgard, fearing for the safety and livelihood of their tribes, sacrificed a young ram to Thor, slitting its throat and letting blood stain the altar.  _Save us, God of Storms, from the hellfire_.  _We have served you faithfully for so long, with blot and song and prayer._

Thor, the master of winds and the dark storm-clouds, took pity on the men and woman of Midgard, and called the clouds to him. Great was the deluge of water they unleashed, and the tribes took desperate shelter in their rude huts. Yet the cold, heavy rains dampened the skin and the spirit of the Hel-demon, and the fires died down.

Some nights, the Old Ones say, you can still hear him, extinguished, unloved, and alone, howling through the trees.

**Author's Note:**

> Kahvi has written a companion piece:  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/14853222


End file.
